


MIRACLE ON MALCOLM X. BOULEVARD

by MorphoFan



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: BFFs, Bromance, Brotp, Christmas Fluff, Drunk Driving, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Major Character Injury, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Rescue, Snowed In, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphoFan/pseuds/MorphoFan
Summary: It's The Night Before Christmas, and The Monarch needs a last-minute gift for Twenty-One. He heads out onto the dark, deserted streets of Newark during a blizzard to go shopping, but a run-in with a drunk driver leaves him in desperate danger. Soon it seems that nothing can save The Monarch… short of a miracle….





	1. Chapter 1

It was the 24th of December, early evening, and the snow had been coming down since early that morning. Monarch stood at the window of his mansion at the corner of Malcolm X. Boulevard and Huey P. Newton Ave, watching it come down.

He was thankful that he didn't have any errands to run in this snowy mess, he could just lay around in his robe. The buses weren't even running. There was a good eight inches of snow out there. 

At least this storm was natural, and not manufactured by a weather machine like the last one!

That reminded him; his wife would be home in a couple of hours. She and Twenty-One were meeting with Dr. Z to discuss the incident with The Creep. Monarch had begged off, trusting Gary to be competent enough to fill the Council members in on what had transpired on 'The Dream Team's' mission. His loyal henchman was happy to fill in for him.

Monarch smiled as he thought about his best friend. Twenty-One was the closest thing to a brother that he could ever remember having….

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden knock at the door. Monarch went to answer it, and found a delivery man, all bundled up and covered in snow, with a package.

"Delivery for Gary Fischer?" the shivering man said, holding up the parcel.

"Yep, this is the place," Monarch said, "But he's out right now. Can I sign for it?"

"Absolutely," the man said, sighing in relief, "Thank you. I'm so glad I don't have to come back out later. It's miserable out here, and this delivery is late, as it is."

"Late?" Monarch asked as he signed the delivery notice, "How late?"

"Well," the man said, looking embarrassed, "I'm afraid the local shipping office didn't realize this property was occupied again, so we'd been trying to see if there had been a mistake of some sort with the address. We should have had this to you a week ago." He took the clipboard back from Monarch and handed him the medium-sized box.

"Ah well, better late than never, I guess," the super-villain said, examining the box, "What is it?"

The delivery man shrugged, "Not sure. All I know is, it's custom-made and was rushed to get here in time for Christmas." He tucked the clipboard under his arm and stepped out onto the porch, "Happy Holidays, sir!" Turning, he hurried down the steps, on his way to his next delivery.

"You too!" Monarch called distractedly as he closed the door. He carried the box back to the living room, shaking it slightly, his curiosity warring with his respect for Gary's privacy. In the end, curiosity won out, and he sat on the couch to open the box.

"I AM a super-villain, after all," he muttered to himself, trying not to damage the box as he carefully slit the tape. He figured he could open the box, snoop the contents, and then re-tape it without Gary ever knowing. He lifted the lid off the box, pushed aside a layer of bubble wrap, and tissue paper, and froze.

"Oh… my God." 

It was a shadowbox, a glass case made to frame and display fragile items. At the top of the box, the words 'Dream Team' were etched into the glass. Mounted inside the case, side by side, were two preserved butterflies. One was a Monarch, and one was a Blue Morpho.

Below the butterflies was a photo of him and Twenty-One, taken a few months back at one of the Guild's formal shindigs. They were standing together in suits, smiling happily, arms around each other's shoulders, each toasting to the cameraman with a glass of champagne. A picture of deep friendship.

At the very bottom of the case was an engraved silver plaque that read, 'To The Monarch, From Twenty-One. Hench For Life.'

Monarch clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling. He was thunderstruck by Twenty-One's thoughtfulness. If ever he'd needed further proof of his henchman's devotion, here it was, in a shadowbox. Custom-made. Just for him. He couldn't begin to imagine what it must have cost….

He grimaced at the thought of cost, and his eyes strayed to the corner table, where his wife had set up a miniature, potted Christmas Tree. A few small gifts were tucked neatly around its base, including Monarch's gift to Twenty-One; a thirty-dollar Amazon gift card, tucked into a plain, red envelope, without so much as a note to accompany it.

Suddenly ashamed of the impersonal nature of his gift to his best friend, Monarch quickly resealed the package containing the shadowbox and placed it on the table beside the tree. He crossed the hall to the stairs, snatching up his black jacket from its place on the bannister as he went.

He dashed up the stairs to his bedroom, and a few minutes later, returned to the living room dressed in his black jeans and turtleneck sweater. He zipped up his black jacket, deep in thought as to what gift he could get for his henchman.

Monarch tugged his black skullcap down over his ears, collected his wallet and phone from the table beside the door, and ducked out the front door into the darkness and swirling snow.

* * *

About an hour and a half later, the snow was still coming down, accompanied now by gusting wind. But inside the small gift shop, it was warm, cozy and comfortable. Monarch strolled around the place, studying some of the collectibles displayed in glass cases, still lost as to what he could get for Twenty-One.

"Any ideas yet?" the rotund, white-haired, white-bearded owner of the shop said kindly, coming to stand at Monarch's elbow.

"Sorry," Monarch said, shaking his head a little, "Nothing's grabbed me, yet. Man, I can't believe you're here. This is the only place open in, like, ten blocks. The buses aren't even running."

The old man chuckled, and patted him gently on the back, "Well, I'm quite accustomed to snow, so I will stay open for at least another few hours. I don't want anyone to miss out on any last-minute Christmas gifts!" He moved to the desk in the corner where a coffeemaker was burbling, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Would you care for a coffee?" he asked Monarch, with a smile.

"Mm, no thanks," the super-villain replied, feeling guilty enough about taking up the man's time, "I think I'm just gonna head home and…." His voice trailed off and his eyes went wide. He walked quickly over to a display case in the corner, and leaned close to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

On a shelf inside the cabinet, on a small, black lacquer stand, was a miniature Swarovski Crystal X-Wing Fighter. About the width of his palm, it was intricate and delicate, catching the light and sparkling with tiny rainbows as it slowly spun on its rotating blue velvet platform.

"That an X-Wing, isn't it?" Monarch exclaimed in excitement, pointing at the bauble, "Twenty-One is a HUGE Star Wars fan! This is PERFECT!"

"His name is Twenty-One?" the cheerful man said, with a grin, setting down his coffee, "Odd name."

"Well, it's more of a title," Monarch said, "His name is Gary." He stepped aside as the little shopkeeper shuffled over to the cabinet, held his round glasses up to his eyes, and peered inside.

"Yes, yes," the old man said with a nod, pulling out his keys and unlocking the cabinet, "That's a Limited Edition, comes with a numbered certificate signed by George Lucas. It even has a little loop for hanging. You think your friend would like it?"

"Like it?" the red-haired man, chuckling as he laid a hand on the old man's shoulder, "I believe he'd give up his first born for that… if he had one." Monarch's head was spinning; a crystal X-Wing Fighter, AND an autograph by George Lucas? Twenty-One would lose his mind.

The shopkeeper packaged up the gift, and Monarch used his debit card to pay. About twenty minutes later, he was on his way home, with the treasure tucked into his inside coat pocket. 

He was almost too giddy to notice the cold, as he anticipated how excited Twenty-One would be when he opened his present. Pausing at the corner for a moment, he rolled his eyes, remembering how his wife had gotten on him about jaywalking. A super-villainess who didn't approve of jaywalking; the irony.

Even though the streets were deserted, he obediently pressed the Crossing Signal button, then waited patiently for the Walk signal to come up. As he waited, he patted the bulky box inside his coat, making sure for the tenth time that the X-Wing was secure. Gary was going to be ecstatic….

He was so lost in thought that by the time he looked up and saw the car, it was too late. The light had turned red. The Honda's operator tried to stop, driving way too fast for the condition of the roads. The brakes locked up and the vehicle skidded out of control, straight at Monarch.

The super-villain gave a yelp of alarm, and tried to dodge out of the car's path as it came up onto the sidewalk, but the front passenger-side fender struck his thigh. Monarch was knocked backwards, tumbling over the guardrail and down the steep embankment beyond, landing hard, feet-first at the bottom. A flash of white-hot pain shot through his right ankle, and everything went black….

* * *

Assistant CEO. He was officially the Assistant CEO….

Martin chuckled again, behind the wheel of his Honda. The company Christmas Party was the last place he'd expected to be given a promotion, but damned, if the Big Boss hadn't sprung it on him. Everyone had raised a toast and he was soon surrounded by coworkers congratulating him.

Along with the congratulations came buying him drinks. Martin wasn't a big drinker, as a rule, but the joy and camaraderie went to his head, and before long, he'd had more than he should have.

Now he was fighting to keep the car straight on the snow-covered road, cursing his bald tires, but thankful beyond measure that the street was empty. New tires. A new car. He could afford a new car, now, with new snow tires!

The car skidded on the snow and headed toward the curb, and Martin cursed as he corrected his path. He had to concentrate on driving, not fantasizing about the wonderful things his new, fatter paycheck would provide.

He drove on, shaking his head to clear the fuzziness, chiding himself for not calling an Uber. Well it was too late, now. In this part of town, getting an Uber was difficult in sunny weather. At night, in the midst of a blizzard, it would be near impossible. The streets were covered in deep snow over sheets of black ice.

Black ice. Black BMW. He would get a black BMW convertible. No, a Lexxus! A silver Lexxus….

Martin let his mind wander a tad too long, and suddenly there was a red stoplight looming in front of him. He instinctively slammed on the brakes, and the car fishtailed, then skidded sideways, bumping up over the curb onto the sidewalk to come to rest against the guardrail, stalling out.

Martin just sat there, stunned, breathing hard. He glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed his automotive faux pas, but as before, the street was deserted. He breathed a sigh of relief that he was unharmed, and gave a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't hurt anyone with his stupidity.

After gathering his thoughts for a few more minutes, he started the car back up. Silently vowing never to drink again, he carefully maneuvered off the sidewalk and onto the street to continue cautiously toward home.

He had no idea he'd just struck a man with his car, and that the man now lay unconscious at the bottom of the ditch beside the road….

The wind blew on, swirling the snow through the frigid air.

* * * * *


	2. CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

Watch and Ward had driven Sheila and Gary home after the debriefing, battling to get the Guild limo through the deep snow. When they'd finally arrived at the mansion, Sheila insisted they stay for dinner. She was puzzled that Monarch wasn't home, but she hadn't been worried at the time.

That was two hours ago. Now she was worried.

"Where IS he?" she vocalized for the fifth time in an hour, pacing the floor of the living room, moving again to peer through the curtains at the dark, snowy wasteland that was Malcolm X. Boulevard, "It's been hours!"

"Still no answer on his cell phone," Twenty-One said, regretfully, ending the call and tucking his phone back into his pocket, "You're sure he didn't call you, or leave you a note or something?"

"YES Gary, I'm SURE!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch snapped.

The stocky man's face fell, and he lowered his eyes. 

The Councilwoman closed her eyes and took a deep breath, crossing to lay her hand on the burly bodyguard's arm. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "You didn't deserve that."

"It's OK," he replied, with a gentle smile, "I'm worried too. He's been gone too long for just a trip to the corner convenient store."

"Something's happened to him," Sheila said, shaking her head, "Or we'd have heard from him by now."

"I've been able to hack into the feeds for every external security camera in a ten-block radius," Ward announced from the couch, where he worked on Sheila's laptop, "Unfortunately, you can't see squat on ANY of them because of the blizzard."

"Thanks for trying, dude," Gary said, giving the agent a thumbs-up, "That was a really smart idea."

"All right, let's go over what we know again," Sheila said, rubbing her tired eyes, "He didn't take the Monarchmobile, the buses aren't in service, there's no WAY a cab or Uber would come out in this crap…," She looked up at Twenty-One, "So, wherever he went, it had to be within walking distance, right?"

"That would make sense," the stocky man agreed, nodding, "And The Monarch's idea of 'walking distance' is about six blocks, top." He smiled as Sheila chuckled a little.

"Assuming he DID leave by his own means," Watch chimed in from the couch, "And wasn't kidnapped or…OW!" He rubbed his arm where Ward had just punched him.

"NOT helping, dude," the blond agent grumbled, before turning his attention back to the computer.

"Sorry," Watch said sheepishly to Sheila and Gary as they glared at him.

"OK," Ward said, looking up at the dark-haired super-villainess, "I've sent a group message out to the Council asking if anyone's seen or heard from The Monarch in the last four hours." He smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, Mrs. M, we'll find him."

"Thank you," she said, wringing her hands, "Oh geez… anyone want a sandwich? We never got around to dinner."

"We can get it, ma'am," Ward said, standing up and offering her his spot on the couch, handing the laptop to her, "You just sit down and try to relax for now." He motioned for Watch to follow, and the two agents disappeared up the hall, heading toward the kitchen.

Twenty-One looked out at the snow again, then wandered around the room, feeling helpless. He moved to the little Christmas tree, and took some comfort in the glow of the tiny lights that sparkled on the branches. Nothing too bad could happen on Christmas Eve, right? That wasn't allowed….

His brow furrowed as he noticed the new box among the other gifts, and he picked it up.

"Oh wow," he said, smiling in spite of everything. He held up the box as Sheila turned to him, "When did this arrive?"

She looked at the plain, brown box and gave a shrug, "No idea," she said, "It must have come while you and I were out. I've never seen it before. What is it?"

Gary sat down on the couch beside her and began to open the box, then paused. "Hey, this has been opened, already!" 

"And whoever opened it did a lousy job of trying to hide the fact," Sheila added, fingering the damaged packing tape. She pursed her lips and looked Gary straight in the eye.

"Monarch," they said, in unison, then laughed.

"Dammit," Twenty-One chuckled, shaking his head, "Well, I guess his gift isn't going to be a surprise, now." He unwrapped the shadowbox and held it up for Sheila to see.

"Oh, Gary!" she breathed, "That's gorgeous!" She carefully took the frame from his hands and studied it. "What a wonderful gift!"

"Thanks," Gary mumbled, suddenly withdrawn as an idea passed through his head. "Uhh, do you have access to Monarch's bank account online?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course," she replied, placing the shadowbox back into the package and moving to put it back under the tree, "I have to balance the checkbook for him every month, you know how he is with money."

"I know," Gary said, with a nod, "But… I just had a thought… what if, after Monarch saw what I got him, he decided to go out and get me a last-minute gift?"

Sheila just looked at him, quizzically, clearly not getting where he was headed.

"Your bank's website updates transactions in real time, right?" he continued, "Couldn't we use that to track him?"

"You are a genius," Sheila said, returning to sit beside him and picking up her laptop. She typed in the url for their bank, brought up the account she shared with Monarch, and listed the month's transactions. 

"There," Gary said, pointing at the most recent charge to the account, "That charge was made in the last few hours, that gives us something to go on!" He took note of the business name, leapt up, grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves and headed for the door.

"Be careful!" Sheila called after him as he ducked out into the snow. As he closed the door, she set the laptop aside and hugged herself, worrying about her husband.

"Please be safe, Baby," she murmured, "Please…."

* * * * *

Cold.

Pain. Cold. Pain in his thigh. He tried to move. More pain in his ankle. 

Monarch slowly opened his eyes, and then blinked rapidly as snowflakes fell on his face. Very carefully, he pulled himself into a sitting position, and took in his surroundings. There was a streetlamp above, so at least he wasn't in pitch darkness. But he was in a deep, snowy ditch, and he could feel the temperature dropping. 

"Great…." 

Next, he took physical inventory. His thigh fell like he'd stopped a bullet with it, and he remembered being struck by the car. His body had a myriad of aches and pains from tumbling down the embankment. He would be a mess of bruises, tomorrow.

He gingerly tried to flex his feet, and hissed in pain. His right ankle was, if not broken, then badly sprained. On the upside, both his feet, as well as his hands, were getting numb, so the pain was lessening.

Or WAS that an upside? Going numb surely couldn't be a good thing. The cold bit through him, and he shivered. He brushed the snow off his clothes and tried to collect his thoughts. Suddenly remembering his cell phone, he thrust his hand into his pocket. But the phone wasn't there. He must have lost it when the car hit him. He felt around briefly for it in the snow, to no avail. 

"Greaaaat," he reiterated, and carefully pulled himself onto his belly. Taking care not to bump his bad ankle, he started an Army-style low crawl, wincing as the snow slipped down the front of his coat. He started inching his way up the steep, slippery side of the ditch, but kept backsliding, making very little progress.

He kept at it, and eventually managed to get about halfway up to the sidewalk. But it was exhausting, and his limbs were freezing. 

"Hello?" he called weakly, then cleared his throat and tried again, louder, "Hello?! Anyone up there? I need help!" He listened, but all he could hear was the wind whistling, and he shivered again. 

"HEY!" he shouted, bracing himself on the snowy incline, "HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE!"

He collapsed onto his belly, wheezing and panting, trying to collect his strength. He was so cold. So sleepy. Maybe if he just took a quick nap, he'd have the strength to climb out….

He shook his head, trying to clear it. No! No, he couldn't fall asleep, he remembered that much from survival training. If he fell asleep, he was finished. 

Monarch rolled onto his back again, and blinked as the feathery, white flakes landed to melt on his flushed face.

He was in trouble. Big trouble. He was trapped, he had only a short time before he froze to death, and not a single soul knew where he was.

* * * * *


	3. CHAPTER 3

The kindly little shopkeeper made his way around the store, turning out the lights in the display cabinets. He glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to Christmas. 

As he collected his coat and hat from behind the counter, there was a sudden, frantic knocking on the glass door. He turned, and saw a young, heavyset man, red-faced and wild-eyed, standing on the doorstep.

"Can I come in?" he called through the glass, "Please! Please, sir! I need to talk to you!"

The old man made a calming gesture with his hand as he came to unlock the door. The young man stomped the snow off his boots and shook off his coat before coming inside.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," he began, voice shaking, "But my friend is missing, and we think this was the last place he visited!"

"I see," the old man said, ushering the frantic man into a chair, "Please, sit down for a moment and catch your breath. Tell me everything you know."

The young man sat, collected himself, and breathed deeply of the warm air for a minute. 

"You see," he began, "My best friend's been missing for hours, and we looked at his bank account, and he…,"

"Yes, yes," the old man said placatingly, "I understand, he made a purchase here this evening, then? What time was he in?"

"I'm not sure," the stocky man said, running a hand over his face, "We can only narrow it down to about three hours." Suddenly his face brightened. "Wait! Hang on, I'm an idiot." 

"I doubt that," the shopkeeper said kindly, watching as the man fumbled in his coat pockets. He withdrew a cellular phone, tapped a few keys, swiped his finger across the screen a few times, and then held it up to show the picture on the screen.

"This is him," he said, "Skinny, red goatee, really long pointy nose. Have you seen him?"

"Ah!" the old man said with a bright smile, "You must be Twenty-One!"

"Yes!" Gary said, in excitement, "Call me Gary, and you are…?"

"Kris," the shopkeeper replied, "And yes, your friend was in here, but that was…," he checked his watch, "Oh my, nearly four hours ago, now!" He jumped aside quickly as Gary leapt up from the chair and bolted for the door.

"Then Monarch's gotta be somewhere between here and home!" the young man exclaimed as he ran out into the snow, "Thank you!" he called back over his shoulder, "Thanks a lot, Mr. Kris!"

"My pleasure, Sonny," the white-bearded man said with a knowing smile. 

 

* * * 

 

"Malcom?"

Monarch's brow furrowed. Whose voice was that? It was a lady's voice, and somewhat familiar.

"Malcom… wake up, buddy."

Another familiar voice, male this time. With Herculean effort, he opened his eyes, and stared.

His parents were standing over him, smiling gently. His dead parents. 

"Mommy?" he murmured in bewilderment, "D-daddy?" Wait, was that HIS voice? It was a child's voice. 

He blinked again, and suddenly he was in his childhood home, sitting in front of a roaring fire, in a room gaily decorated for Christmas. There was a big Christmas Tree in the corner, with presents piled underneath. Smells of cinnamon and evergreen were all around, and candlelight flickered from the wall sconces.

Malcom got unsteadily to his feet, and looked down at his chubby little legs. He couldn't be more than four years old, and he was home, and it was Christmas, and he was happy, and he was the center of his parents' universe. 

With a wide, gap-toothed smile, he held out his arms, and was scooped up and enveloped in a warm hug from his mother.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed joyously, burying his little freckled face against her perfect, porcelain neck. Her perfume filled his nose, flooding his senses with memories of love and home and safety.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she cooed in her melodic voice, "My baby, how we've missed you!"

"I missed you too," little Malcom wept, turning his head to look over at his father, standing there all dapper and smiling, with his dark hair and perfect moustache. The big man reached out, and Malcom scrambled eagerly into his arms.

"Hiya kiddo," Don Fitzcarraldo murmured, hugging him tight, "How's my big boy?"

Down in the ditch, Monarch closed his eyes and smiled, feeling strangely warm, despite laying in the snow. He felt himself drifting away… floating… going to join his family. It was so warm, now. He felt he would never be cold, again….

 

* * *

 

"MONARCH!" Gary bellowed for the twentieth time through his cupped hands, but his voice was swallowed up by the snow and wind. He ran in place for a minute, trying to keep his circulation going, feeling colder with every passing moment. 

"Oh God, dude, where ARE you?" 

He was running out of time, and hope. He'd scoured the few blocks between Kris's shop and Malcolm X. Boulevard, but couldn't find any trace of his best friend. Any footprints left by the super-villain had been long-since obliterated by the falling snow.

Pulling out his phone, he tried to call Monarch one more time. The call went directly to voicemail, meaning Monarch's phone was dead. 

Maybe Monarch was dead, too, and now the only way Gary would reach him was through a Medium….

The henchman stopped short as a crazy idea suddenly lit up his cold-addled brain. He checked his phone, and cursed as he saw the battery was nearly empty. There was enough power for one more call….

He dialed frantically, praying that the man would pick up. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Dr. Byron Orpheus, Yuletide Salutations!" said the boisterous voice.

"Dr. O!" Twenty-One shouted exuberantly.

"Gary?" Orpheus's voice sounded surprised, "Gary Fischer? What a nice surprise to hear from you, how are…."

"Listen, listen!" the younger man interrupted, "My phone's about to die, and I need your help. Monarch's missing, and I'm desperate, at this point. Can you… I-I dunno… use your psychic… thing… magic… to help me find him?"

"I see," the Necromancer said, his voice beginning to break up as the phone battery ran down, "One moment."

Twenty-One paced in the snow, heart pounding, listening to the ominous 'beep' warning him that his phone was about to crap out. He'd begun to think the call had been dropped, when Orpheus' voice came through, faint and choppy.

"I sense… nearby… star… lead you… Monarch…!" the wizard's voice sputtered.

"What?" Gary said, holding the phone tighter to his ear, plugging his other ear with a gloved finger, "Repeat? Star? What?"

"…said… star… look for… follow… STAR!"

"GOOD-BYE!" the phone said, in its cheerful, computerized voice, and promptly went dead.

"Nooo!" Gary wailed, shaking the phone, tears leaking from his eyes, "Dammit!"

He tucked the dead phone into his coat pocket and tried to gather his thoughts. Follow a star? Seriously? Was Orpheus having a laugh at him? Follow a star on Christmas Eve…. Oh, that's just hilarious….

All at once, the clarion bells in the church across the street came to life, and 'Silent Night' rang out over the deserted street. Midnight. It was Christmas. 

Gary sank down to sit in the snow, folding his arms across his drawn-up knees, resting his brow on his arms. The waves of cold and hopeless despair washed over him, and he cried.

Then, an odd brightness slowly illuminated all around him, and he raised his head. He was bathed in a circle of golden light. He staggered to his feet, shielded his eyes, and looked straight up.

"No. Way."

Was it a star? He couldn't say. But it was a light, and it was focused on him. As he watched in disbelief, the golden orb in the sky moved slowly ahead of him, and he followed.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, as he walked along, "Ridiculous…. There is NO WAY…."

But he had nothing else to go on, at this point, and he was desperate enough to give the ridiculous a try. 

 

* * * 

 

Little Malcom clung to his father, snuggling into the tall man's soft, warm sweater. Then, abruptly, the man set him down on his feet, and the child looked up in confusion.

"Daddy?" he began, uncertainly.

"Sorry, buddy," his father said with a gentle smile, stepping away from him, "Mommy and I have to go, now, but don't worry, you'll be fine." He smiled down at his son.

"Wait!" Malcom cried, reaching out. He tried to step toward his father, but his feet seemed anchored to the floor, "Daddy, wait! I wanna come, too! Mommy!"

"You can't come with us, sweetheart," his mother said gently, backing away, taking her husband's hand, "It's not your turn, yet." She smiled as she began to fade from view, dissolving into golden light.

"Wait!" The little boy wailed.

"It's OK, son," his father said, fading slowly away into the warm, glowing light, "That's my big, brave boy, now. We'll see you again, soon."

"No!" Malcom pleaded, as his parents slowly vanished before his eyes, "Please, don't leave me alone again! Don't leave me! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"We'll always be here for you, darling," the disembodied voice of his mother soothed, "Don't be afraid."

"Please don't leave me…."

 

* * *

 

Gary was running now, trying to keep the mysterious glowing ball of light in view. Suddenly, he thought he heard a sound amidst the howling wind. A voice. Someone shouting. He paused, and listened, waiting, but whatever the sound was had stopped.

The light moved on a little further, then paused, hovering at the side of the road, just beyond the guardrail.

Rallying his strength, the henchman continued toward the beacon. As he neared the sidewalk, he noticed a large dent in the guardrail, and his heart began to pound….

"Don't leave me… don't leave me… please…." The faint, plaintive voice floated up from the ditch below.

"MONARCH!"

 

* * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

"No, Mr. Limb, no word, yet," Ward said softly into his phone, trying to keep his voice down, "We'll keep you informed." 

He hung up, and moved to stand over Sheila, where she wept quietly on the couch. Gently, the blonde agent gathered up the afghan from the back of the couch, and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up, her face tear-streaked and drawn, and gave him a bleak smile as she tugged the warm blanket around herself.

"Thank you," she murmured tremulously.

He sat down beside her and wrapped a comforting arm around her, not knowing what to say. What could he say? With every passing minute, The Monarch's chances of survival dwindled further and further, and now Twenty-One was unaccounted for, too.

"Um… Merry Christmas… I guess?" Watch said tentatively from his place at the window, pointing at the clock. It was a quarter past midnight, and officially Christmas Day.

Sheila cried harder, leaning into Ward, and the blonde agent glared at his counterpart.

"Nice one, Watch," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

"Oh my God!" Watch suddenly cried out, leaning closer to the window, "Ward!"

"What is it?" Ward demanded, jumping to his feet as the other agent charged out into the hall and threw open the front door.

Gasping for air and coughing, Twenty-One staggered into the foyer, caked with snow. He had Monarch cradled in his arms, all wrapped up in the henchman's big coat. The stocky bodyguard's legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.

"Here, give him to me!" Ward ordered, and gathered Monarch's motionless form into his arms. He carried the super-villain over to the couch, and Sheila stepped back, a hand pressed to her mouth, as the agent laid her husband down.

"Monarch?" she called, "Monarch? Sweetie?" she reached down to touch his face. "Oh God, his skin's like ice!"

"W-warm…" Twenty-One wheezed as Watch supported him over to the fireplace, "Gotta… get him warm… NOW!"

Sheila quickly moved to the hearth and threw a few more logs onto the fire, then used the bellows to coax the flames higher. Watch and Ward each took one end of the couch, lifted it, and turned it to face the fireplace, moving it as close as they deemed safe. 

"Blankets!" Gary gasped, stripping off his snowy clothes, "Get him out of… wet clothes!"

"I'm on it!" Sheila dashed out of the room and up the stairs to collect the requested items.

Watch and Ward worked like mad, first removing Gary's heavy coat, and then Monarch's jacket underneath. A square, white gift box suddenly tumbled out of the jacket onto the floor, and Watch picked it up and tossed it aside.

Ward knelt by the red-haired man's feet and begun unlacing his ice-encrusted boots.

"Careful of his right foot," Gary warned from his place in front of the fire, sitting there unashamed in nothing but his boxers, finally catching his breath, "Seemed to be hurting him, ankle's probably either broken or sprained."

"Right," Ward said with a sharp nod. He carefully removed Monarch's right boot, then his soggy sock. He gently palpated the swollen ankle, grimacing at the ugly, purple-red bruise that spread from the super-villain's toes to halfway up his calf. "Yep, that's a bad sprain. Bet that hurts…."

"Mrs. Monarch!" Watch called toward the stairs, as he continued to peel off the sopping clothes, "An ACE bandage would be useful, if you have one!"

"Got it!" came the throaty reply from the upper floor.

"He's got a nasty bruise on his thigh," Ward pointed as he pulled the black jeans off Monarch's skinny legs.

"I'm pretty sure he was struck by a car," Gary said, "There was a fresh dent in the guardrail right next to the ditch I found him in."

"Fresh dent?" Ward asked, "How could you tell it was fresh?"

"No rust," Gary replied, "Damaged metal rusts crazy fast in this part of the country."

"Wow… you're like Sherlock Holmes, or something," Ward said, impressed. 

"How DID you find him, anyway?" Watch inquired, warming his hands at the fire, and then laying them against Monarch's cold skin.

"Wellll," Gary said, "I'm gonna need a few minutes before I can explain that," He ran a hand over his wet hair, "Especially since I'm not sure I believe it myself, and I was THERE." 

As the two Guild agents finished stripping Monarch down to his tiger-striped briefs, Sheila came hurrying back down the stairs with her arms full. She went to Gary first and handed him his Jedi robes, then moved to kneel beside the couch, setting down the rest of her burden.

Watch picked up a folded blanket from the top of the pile and shook it out, before draping it over Monarch and tucking it in all around his pale, cold body. He repeated the motion with a second, and then third blanket, until the super-villain was swaddled up with nothing but his pale face exposed.

Ward took the ACE bandage from Sheila's hands and bound up Monarch's injured ankle, before carefully tucking his foot back under the blankets.

Seeing that her beloved husband was in good hands, Sheila moved to Twenty-One with a towel and began to dry his hair.

"Thanks" the seated henchman said quietly, pulling his robes tighter around himself, closing his eyes in pleasure as his hair was rubbed dry, "I appreciate this."

"Are you kidding?" Shelia said, leaning down to kiss the top of Gary's head, "Sweetie, you saved my husband's life tonight. This is the least I can do." She continued to briskly rub his hair with the towel, silently thankful that he'd allowed her to cut off his ponytail a few weeks back.

"Don't leave me!" Monarch suddenly cried out from beneath the nest of blankets.

Everyone froze. It was the first time the super-villain had spoken since Twenty-One had brought him home.

"Mrs. Monarch?" Ward said softly, motioning to her. 

Sheila quickly came over to the couch and laid her hand against her husband's brow. He was still only semi-conscious, but it was clear he was starting to awaken. 

"Monarch?" she called softly, stroking his face, "Baby, can you hear me?"

"M-Mommy… Daddy... please…!" Monarch pleaded, tears streaming from beneath his closed eyelids, "Don't leave me…."

"Shhh," his wife breathed, leaning close, softly kissing his cold face, "Shh, baby… it's OK… it's OK… I'm right here, and I'm not gonna leave you." She stroked his hair back, kissing his brow, caressing his cheek.

"Come back… come back…," Monarch moaned.

"What's wrong with him?" Sheila whispered to Ward. The blonde agent just shrugged.

"He's delirious," Twenty-One explained, coming to join the others crowded around the couch, "It happens sometimes with hypothermia, when the brain starts to come back online. The fact that he's talking is actually a really good sign, though."

The big man leaned down and gently tousled his boss's hair. "Come on, dude… wake up," he murmured.

Monarch's pale brow furrowed, and his dark lashes trembled on his cheeks. He took a deep breath, and shifted slightly under the blankets. 

"That's it, baby," Sheila coaxed, taking his cold hand in hers and caressing it, "Come back to us, now."

Monarch's eyes fluttered open, and he glanced around with uncertainty at the faces leaning over him.

"What… what happened?" he murmured, "Where are my parents?" He tried to sit up, but Twenty-One gently held him down with a hand on his chest.

"Easy boss, take it slow," the henchman ordered, "You were hypothermic and hallucinating. Just rest. Just breathe."

The red-haired man looked around in confusion. 

"Do you remember anything that happened?" Ward asked, picking up a pillow and tucking it gently under Monarch's head.

"A car," the super-villain said softly, "It skidded in the snow, knocked me over the guardrail, and I woke up at the bottom of a ditch."

"Right," Gary said, nodding, "That's where I found you."

"I tried to climb out," the older man continued, "But I was so cold, and I couldn't get enough traction. So I decided to rest for a little while."

"Well that was dumb," Watch snorted, "Sleeping's the last thing--OW!" Ward had punched him again.

"Give him a break, dude," the blonde agent hissed, "He's had a rough night!"

"Oh my God, you two, I swear…." Sheila rolled her eyes.

"Do you remember anything else?" Twenty-One asked quietly, cupping Monarch's cold cheek in his big hand.

"I… thought I saw my parents," the super-villain replied, "They spoke to me… hugged me… kept me warm. But then they just… faded away, into this sparkling, glowing…."

"Ball of golden light?" Gary finished, with a smile.

Monarch's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded.

"Wait, Gary? You were hallucinating, too?" Sheila asked, cocking an eyebrow at the henchman. She watched as the big man stood up and ran a hand over his hair.

"OK… I have a story to tell you all," he began, biting his bottom lip in uncertainty, "And I know how it's gonna sound, so just… just bear with me…."

* * * * *

Once it was clear that Monarch was out of danger, Sheila contacted The Council to let them know her husband was safe. Gary called Dr. Orpheus back and relayed the story of the 'star' that had led him to Monarch. The Necromancer was overjoyed, and praised Gary for his willingness to open his mind and embrace 'the ridiculous.'

The snow finally stopped at around half-past-one in the morning. As soon as it did, the huge, heavy Newark city snow plows were hard at work, rumbling and scraping paths through the streets, spitting salt and sand in their wake.

The Guild limo was partially buried by the plow, but it didn't take long to dig it out, and soon, Watch and Ward bid the trio goodbye, and headed home to get some sleep.

It was decided that Monarch would be better off sleeping on the couch, rather than trying to deal with the stairs. Twenty-One helped him change into his warm, comfortable yellow track suit and then went to make him some soup. Soon, the super-villain was bundled up in a blanket at the corner of the couch, sipping from a mug. His bad ankle was elevated on a chair, wrapped in an ice pack.

Gary announced he would sleep on the sitting room floor, to be close by in case Monarch needed anything in the night. The older man tried to persuade him otherwise, but the faithful henchman wasn't having it. Monarch didn't have the strength or the will to argue.

Now, the trio was quietly recuperating together on the couch, Monarch and Sheila snuggled together, and Gary lounging, half-asleep at the other end.

"God, I'm tired," Sheila said, yawning, and stretching, "So I can only imagine how you boys feel!" She leaned toward her husband and they shared a kiss. He smiled at her, and nuzzled her tiny nose with his substantial one.

"Why don't you go to bed, Honey?" he murmured, "It's late, we should all get some sleep."

"You don't need anything?" she asked drowsily, yawning again.

"We're good, ma'am," Twenty-One said, with his eyes closed, head tilted back, "I'll be here if he needs me."

"OK, then," she acquiesced, getting to her feet. She kissed her husband one more time, then kissed Twenty-One's unshaven cheek, making him blush and smile. "Goodnight!"

"Night!" the two men said in unison. She turned out the lights in the foyer and hallway, and ascended the stairs.

Monarch and Gary sat there in warm, companionable silence for a few minutes, both exhausted by the ordeal of the last few hours.

"Some night, eh?" the super-villain muttered, with a chuckle.

"No kidding," his henchman replied, stretching his arms back over his head, "How's the ankle? Need more ibuprofen?"

"I'm good, dude," Monarch said, fondly, "You really went above and beyond the call of duty tonight."

"Well I can't speak for the room," Twenty-One yawned, "But this is definitely one Christmas I personally won't forget."

"And we didn't even open our presents, yet," the red-haired man pointed out. 

"Well, you already know what I got YOU," Gary said, stretching one leg across the couch to tickle Monarch's belly with his toes, "You rotten little sneak."

"Quit it!" Monarch cackled as he pushed the offending extremity away. Suddenly, he remembered the gift for Twenty-One, and he looked around the room. "Hey, I had a package inside my jacket, any idea what happened to it?"

Twenty-One looked up and got to his feet with a groan. He walked over toward the hearth, and picked something up from the floor. 

"Is this it?" he asked, holding up a square, white box with a black ribbon.

"Yeah," Monarch said, sitting up straighter and reaching out. 

Gary came and laid the box in the grinning super-villain's hands. But then, the grin faded as Monarch gently shook the box, and tinkling sounds emanated from within.

"Oh, crap," he breathed, quickly undoing the silk ribbon and lifting the lid off the box, "Oh, CRAP!" 

The crystal X-Wing was in pieces, shattered at some point during his accident. Worse yet, the sharp shards had apparently bounced around and shredded the autographed certificate. The whole gift was a total loss.

Devastated, Monarch handed the box full of disappointment to Twenty-One, and the henchman took it and studied the contents.

"I'm so sorry, dude," the super-villain said sadly, shaking his head, "You got me such an amazing present. All I wanted… was to give you something just as good in return."

Twenty-One quietly put the lid back on the box and crossed the room to place it under the little table-top Christmas tree. Then he returned to the couch, sat beside Monarch, and gently pulled the older man into his arms.

"I'm sorry," Monarch said again, sniffling, leaning into him.

"Hey," Gary said softly, "Getting you back, safe… was the best gift I could ever hope for."

"Seriously?" Monarch whimpered, returning the hug, pressing his face into the younger man's shoulder.

"Well, duh," the burly henchman murmured, "Dude, you're my best friend…. I love you." He turned his head to press a brief, brotherly kiss into Monarch's hair.

The older man sniffled harder, and Gary just held him tighter.

"You're squeezing my tears out, you big homo," Monarch mumbled, tearfully.

Twenty-One busted out laughing, reaching up to cradle his boss's head in his big hand.

 

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

Throughout Christmas morning and early afternoon, there was a fairly steady stream of Guild visitors, all eager to hear Twenty-One tell the story of Monarch's miraculous rescue. Phantom Limb, Radical Left, and even Red Mantle and Dragoon came to visit. 

Red Death and his family were skiing in Aspen, but they sent their love via email, along with some absolutely surreal pictures of the massive, skeletal super-villain on the slopes. 

Even Wide Wale called to check in, and offered the use of his personal limo and driver during Monarch's recovery. It was clear the bad blood between the two super-villains was truly in the past….

When Dr. Z stopped by, he gave Monarch a quick examination. The diminutive Asian doctor confirmed that the sprained ankle was the only worrisome injury, and prescribed keeping it wrapped, elevated and iced. He also ordered Monarch to stay off of it, and assigned Twenty-One to make sure said order was enforced.

Monarch found all the attention exhausting, but the well-wishers also came bearing gifts of wine, spirits, chocolates, fruit, cigars and various other goodies, so he kept his complaining to a minimum. He was relieved, though, when the last of the guests bid them goodbye and left; he wasn't accustomed to being so popular.

A few hours later, the house was filled with the aroma of roasting turkey, wafting from the kitchen. The trio was snuggled together on the couch, watching a marathon of Christmas specials on the television and enjoying the gifted wine. They had started out with glasses, like civilized people, but after a few refills, they had taken to just passing around the bottles. 

Monarch's sprained ankle was wrapped tight and propped up on a chair, with ice packs piled on. At the other end of the couch, Sheila perched daintily, with her legs pulled up under her. Gary was in his usual spot in the middle, with his arms around both of them.

"Who's got the Red?" Sheila asked, and Monarch passed the Cabernet Sauvignon across Gary to his wife. She took a long pull from the bottle and then burped loudly.

"Sexy," Monarch and Gary said in perfect unison, and the three of them laughed.

"That looks really nice there, doesn't it?" Monarch said, gesturing at the far wall. The shadowbox was mounted there, right next to a portrait of his parents. It seemed the perfect place for the memento, and it looked beautiful.

"Sure does," Sheila agreed, kissing Gary's cheek, then laying her head on his shoulder

The late afternoon sun was just starting to filter in through the curtains, bathing the whole room in a rosy pink glow, when there was a knock at the door. Sheila handed the wine back to Monarch and rose from her spot on the couch to answer it. 

"Probably another well-wisher come to check on you," she said with a smile, tousling her husband's hair as she passed.

"Most likely bearing gifts," Monarch agreed tipsily, taking another pull from the bottle, "Nothing like a near-death experience to generate sympathy." He smiled as Gary tightened his arm around him, and he lay his head on his henchman's big shoulder.

"Come on in," Sheila's voice floated in from the foyer, "I need to go and check on the turkey, but the guys are in the sitting room, just through here."

"Well, hello again, boys!" a voice said, cheerfully.

Gary and Monarch both turned to see the little white-haired shopkeeper standing in the doorway, his familiar, bearded face ruddy from the cold.

"Mr. Kris!" Twenty-One exclaimed as he jumped up, crossing the room and ushering the elderly gentlemen over to the couch, "Have a seat!"

"Hey there!" Monarch quickly hid the bottle of wine beside the couch and shifted over a bit as Kris took a seat beside him. "Merry Christmas!" the super-villain said, patting the old man's knee, "What brings you here?"

"Oh," the bespectacled man said jovially, "I just thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing, sir. I understand you had rather a rough time of it after you left my shop last night."

"Yeahhh, you could say that," Monarch replied, with a lopsided smile, glancing over at Twenty-One, "I'm really lucky to have such good friends, though."

"Aren't we all," Kris agreed, with a sage nod, "I trust there was no permanent damage?"

"Nope," Monarch chirped, pointing to his foot, "Just a sprained ankle. So I get to lay around, drink wine, and get waited on like a king for a few weeks." He folded his arms behind his head and grinned smugly as Kris and Gary both laughed.

"Yeah, including getting his bony butt carried up and down the stairs by yours truly," Twenty-One added, putting his hands on his hips.

"Good friends," Monarch reiterated in a groggy whisper to the chuckling Kris, the effects of the wine starting to catch up with him.

"Turkey's just about ready," Sheila announced as she returned to the sitting room, wiping her hands on her green and red tartan apron. She held up a hand and smiled as Kris removed his hat and chivalrously tried to rise from his seat for her, and he settled back down.

"Oh, this is Kris," Monarch said, indicating their visitor, "He owns the shop I told you about. Kris, this is my wife."

"Sheila," she said, coming to shake hands with the shopkeeper, "Would you care to join us for dinner, Mr. Kris? I've got a turkey about the size of a Smart Car in the oven."

Everyone laughed, but Kris shook his head.

"It's lovely of you to ask, my dear, but I'm afraid I can't stay," he said, moving to stand up, and nodding gratefully as Gary offered his arm for support, "I've got a long trip tonight, and I'd best get going."

"Thanks for coming by!" Monarch called with a wave as Gary and Sheila escorted Kris to the door.

"Take care, Mr. Monarch," he called, and turned to Sheila and Gary, "You two look after him for me, now," he added with a conspiratorial wink.

"Always," Gary said with a grin, patting the old man on the shoulder.

With a last tip of his hat, the white-haired man walked out the door, his booted feet crunching in the snow, and Sheila pushed the door shut behind him.

"What a sweet man," she said, as Twenty-One wrapped his arm around her and they walked back into the sitting room, "I hope we'll see him again."

"Oh, dammit," Monarch suddenly muttered, "I should have asked him if he had any more of those Limited Edition X-Wing Fighters!" He looked up at Gary, "I still owe you a present, dude."

"Don't worry about it," the big man said, sitting down next to his boss and ruffling his hair, "I have everything I need, already."

Sheila crossed to the little Christmas tree and picked up the box containing the ruined X-Wing. "Maybe we can glue it," she said, handing the box to Monarch.

"Doubtful," the red-haired man said with a shake of his head, as he lifted the lid off the box, "You haven't seen it yet, but… um… what the…?"

Twenty-One leaned over and looked into the box, and his jaw dropped. Reaching in, he lifted out a perfectly intact, sparkling Swarovski crystal X-Wing Fighter, and an equally flawless, autographed certificate.

The two men looked at each other in shock.

"It looks fine to me," Sheila said, "Pretty little thing. Wanna hang it on the tree, Gary?"

The henchman was still slack-jawed. Monarch elbowed him, and with a blank expression, Gary walked robotically over to the tree and carefully fastened the little bauble to one of the branches. Then he turned and walked, still dazed, back to sit on the couch.

"Well, I'm going to go finish up the veggies and potatoes," Sheila said, oblivious, straightening her apron, "I'll give you a yell when everything is ready." She kissed the top of Monarch's head as she passed by to disappear down the hall.

The two men just sat there in silence for a long minute, then both glanced back to make sure she was out of earshot.

"It was broken… and now it isn't," Monarch said flatly, "Explain that to me, please."

"Could Kris have switched the busted one out for a new one while we weren't looking?" Twenty-One questioned softly, looking from Monarch to the Christmas tree.

"He never went near the tree!" the super-villain hissed, with wide eyes, "You saw him! He just came and sat here on the couch, never went anywhere NEAR that corner of the room!"

"AND he didn't know it was broken," Gary added thoughtfully, "Nobody knew but you and me."

They sat there in silence again. Then with a glance at each other, they simultaneously picked up two bottles of wine, clinked them together in a toast, and chugged the contents.

 

* * *

 

Down the street, Kris smiled to himself as he walked along. With a stealthy glance to confirm nobody was around, he stopped, and closed his eyes. His body evaporated into a cloud of golden sparkles, swirled briefly, then formed a glowing orb of light, and floated away into the darkening sky.

 

MAY YOUR HOLIDAYS BE MAGICAL  
Love, Morphofan

THE END

http://ko-fi.com/morphofan


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